


Lay Me Down Gently

by Demon_Apostle



Series: Dragon Age Keep [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Sad, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 23:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4980142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demon_Apostle/pseuds/Demon_Apostle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blight has been stopped. The Archdemon has been defeated. But no one can call this a happy moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Me Down Gently

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing of the Dragon Age series. My warden lived but I just wanted to do something that involved my Mahariel dying and Zevran being bitter and sad about everything with my own twist on things.

There was going to be a ceremony. A funeral for the passing of a brave grey warden.

 

 _His_ grey warden.

 

It hadn’t seemed real. None of it had. Part of him was still wishing he’d been asleep, dreaming everything that happened since he took that contract. That meeting the alluring Dalish elf he had come to be so fond of hadn’t been real. That they hadn’t traveled all over Fereldan, trying to convince elves, dwarves, and humans to respond to the treaties and help fight the Archdemon.

 

Maybe then, he wouldn’t feel as lonely as he does right now.

 

Zevran keeps wishing, _pleading_ , that it had all been a dream. A nightmare. But it wasn’t and he knows that. That’s the reason he can’t bring himself to try and act like he isn’t in pain right now. He wants to be cheerful for those who aren’t, wants to crack some sexualized joke or watch as some of the women fawn over his presence while his elf stands in a corner scowling. But he can’t. He can’t because no one has the will to berate him for those jokes. He can’t because his elf won’t be watching him while he stands in the corner.

 

So instead, Zevran stands with the rest of their odd group, mute and unmoving as Alistair tries his best to give his speech without crying. Leliana doesn’t seem to have as much willpower as Alistair, tears already cascading down her cheeks and onto the grass. Wynn is the only other member who is also crying. Everyone else is either wearing pained looks or are completely stone-faced (a joke he might appreciate if he didn’t feel upset while happy).

 

But he is surprised when Morrigan isn’t one of the companions whose face lacks any emotion.

 

But he doesn’t call her out for it, no will to make fun of her for actually showing human emotions and also because he’s not sure how she’ll react right now. So Zevran remains quiet and watches as Alistair calls forward an old looking Dalish woman.

 

Marethari, he learns shortly after. The elder to the clan Gadrial was a part of. She seems angry at first but after Alistair tells her that the Dalish will have their own land, her anger turns to shock which then becomes bitter happiness. Her face says it all. _We have been granted our own land. But at what cost?_ Zevran can understand the feeling.

 

Later, after everything has settled and those who attended Alistair’s speech have either left or are mourning in separate parts of the room, Zevran is approached by Marethari and another Dalish woman. He isn’t sure how to greet them, unaware of Dalish customs but they assure him that a simple hello is sufficient.

 

“The king informed me that you are the person Gadrial chose as his partner. I would like to express my gratitude towards you for taking care of our clansman and looking out for him.” Zevran smiles bitterly but he knows it’s not aimed at the woman in front of him.

 

“Actually, it was the other way around most of the time, I can assure you.” She nods her understanding and motions for the other Dalish woman to pay her respects as well. She tells him her name, says that she is grateful to him, and proceeds to explain her relationship towards his warden. Apparently, this was the person who looked after the elf since Gadrial’s parents were both gone. Zevran wasn’t given the details but he thinks it makes sense that his warden was a bit closed off from those around him. He was the same way before they got together.

 

They talk a bit more before Marethari and Ashalle leave, Zevran once again left to his own thoughts and emotions. And before he can stop them, memories of their battle come flooding back.

 

The memory of their group running back to Redcliffe.

 

The memory of fighting demons around every corner.

 

The memory of plowing their way through Fort Drakon.

 

The memory of facing the Archdemon.

 

The memory of allies falling one by one to its fire and darkspawn army.

 

The memory of Alistair getting knocked unconscious after the Archdemon flung him into the wall.

 

The memory of Zevran nearly ending up the same way.

 

And worst of all, the memory of Gadrial killing the Archdemon by plunging a sword through its skull. Both a happy yet upsetting memory. A victory and end to the fifth blight, but at the cost of his lover’s life. Something Zevran can’t help but feel angry about.

 

“It was the only way to kill the Archdemon. Had I not been knocked unconscious, I would have done the same thing.” Alistair expresses regret at partly being the reason Gadrial is dead. He tells Zevran about what they had learned from Riordan and why grey wardens were needed during blights. And even what would have happened to Gadrial if Alistair or Riordan had struck the final blow instead. The assassin can’t help the dark chuckle that escapes his throat at the news.

 

To Zevran, the life of a grey warden was basically a one-time deal. If you didn’t become a savior by slaying an Archdemon then you spent the rest of your life waiting for the corruption inside to start killing you slowly with a song. Both mean you die because you decided to become a grey warden. But only one option lets you become a hero, a beacon of hope for the masses.

 

Zevran suspects Gadrial never really wanted to become a symbol of hope for others. Wouldn’t care for the title Hero of Fereldan and would just be happy that the blight was over. He’d smile at Zevran, give him a few kisses then retire to a room where he’d sleep the rest of the day if Alistair allowed it. The assassin would gladly follow and cuddle with him in the bed like they did in the tents, watching as Gadrial slept without having to worry about the Archdemon plaguing his dreams.

 

At least for now, as Zevran watches some grey wardens begin to bundle the hero’s body, he thinks that Gadrial will be able to sleep peacefully from now on.


End file.
